[ there's a derisive snort from the robin of the present day at jing yuan's words. ]
Quite. The end he speaks of may be a pretty thought, but no matter how he dresses it up, the reality is that he's invaded countless nations and spilled no small amount of innocent blood in his crusade to rid the world of gods. He would try to lay claim to the title of revolutionary, of humanity's savior, and perhaps he was able to sway many to follow him, but... I wonder.
[ will the memory continue? for how long?
blows are traded; the bite of the noble rapier the king handles scoring superficial strikes at best on the red armor, walhart's wolf berg striking into places quickly vacated by his would-be opponent- and on at least one occasion, parried and deflected by the younger robin himself, expression determined, though not without effort.
in the end, the clash isn't decisive, but walhart comes off the poorer of the two sides. the man retreats into the fortress capital, a clear invitation to follow— which the king and tactician and their army take him up on.
the memory doesn't follow them, instead fading to blank whiteness ... and then into the vast, open halls of a keep, carpeted in red, light streaming down from the windows high above. again, it comes to a duel,
and again, there is a final exchange of words.
"walhart! will you surrender?"
the man looks haggard at this point- both of them, chrom and walhart both bear the proof of their weariness, in truth- but his spine remains unbowed, the proud jut to his chin making his answer clear before he even speaks it. "don't waste our time with questions you know the answer to, boy."
"it did not have to be this way," says the exalt, simply. his eyes are resolute, even if he speaks of alternatives to the scene playing out now. behind him and to his side stands the younger robin, again watching their backs for any who would dare interrupt. "you believed in mankind's strength, as did my sister. you believe that we are masters of our own destinies, and so do i. you could have joined with us, instead of ruling by strength, and strength alone."
"pretty words!" once again, the man scoffs, not a single word making a single dent in the shield of his convictions. "will we just talk, or will we fight? me, join you? does a pegasus join with the flea on its back? a dragon, with a cow it eats? you forget your place, boy. look where you stand! you stand within the halls of an enemy's castle, ready to paint the stones red for your cause. for all the borrowed ideals you parrot, you're little different than i, save for the strength needed to see your convictions through."
he sneers, his next words a challenge.
"but i am the conqueror, and i will see this world united!"
"not you!" the king retorts, the force of both parties' declarations cracking the air like a thunderclap. "i will. and not by forcing all the people to choose the sword or the knee! i would stoke their hearts, for peace cannot come about in a land ruled by fear!"
(if jing yuan thinks to look at the robin of the present, who has straightened up from collecting mana stones and instead is now watching his king speak, he may note a distant, solemn expression on his face.)
the world seems to come to a standstill as whatever forces bidding them not attack seem to shatter, sword flashing up to meet axe. it is there that the memory ends, reality bleeding back in before any sure end to the clash of ideals, but robin's words, likely, eliminate any doubt that might exist of its outcome. ]
... Is that where it ends? I suppose his dying moments were just that unimportant. [ a harrumph, even if he can't quite clear his expression of the pensive cast it's taken on. ] When Chrom defeated him ... he held onto his beliefs to the last.
Still, I suppose it must be that strength of conviction that led to many to support him such that they would rather die than surrender, that day we marched on the capital.
i'm sick of how much red there is in this damn room, /has a ch20 video open as reference
Quite. The end he speaks of may be a pretty thought, but no matter how he dresses it up, the reality is that he's invaded countless nations and spilled no small amount of innocent blood in his crusade to rid the world of gods. He would try to lay claim to the title of revolutionary, of humanity's savior, and perhaps he was able to sway many to follow him, but... I wonder.
[ will the memory continue? for how long?
blows are traded; the bite of the noble rapier the king handles scoring superficial strikes at best on the red armor, walhart's wolf berg striking into places quickly vacated by his would-be opponent- and on at least one occasion, parried and deflected by the younger robin himself, expression determined, though not without effort.
in the end, the clash isn't decisive, but walhart comes off the poorer of the two sides. the man retreats into the fortress capital, a clear invitation to follow— which the king and tactician and their army take him up on.
the memory doesn't follow them, instead fading to blank whiteness ... and then into the vast, open halls of a keep, carpeted in red, light streaming down from the windows high above. again, it comes to a duel,
and again, there is a final exchange of words.
"walhart! will you surrender?"
the man looks haggard at this point- both of them, chrom and walhart both bear the proof of their weariness, in truth- but his spine remains unbowed, the proud jut to his chin making his answer clear before he even speaks it. "don't waste our time with questions you know the answer to, boy."
"it did not have to be this way," says the exalt, simply. his eyes are resolute, even if he speaks of alternatives to the scene playing out now. behind him and to his side stands the younger robin, again watching their backs for any who would dare interrupt. "you believed in mankind's strength, as did my sister. you believe that we are masters of our own destinies, and so do i. you could have joined with us, instead of ruling by strength, and strength alone."
"pretty words!" once again, the man scoffs, not a single word making a single dent in the shield of his convictions. "will we just talk, or will we fight? me, join you? does a pegasus join with the flea on its back? a dragon, with a cow it eats? you forget your place, boy. look where you stand! you stand within the halls of an enemy's castle, ready to paint the stones red for your cause. for all the borrowed ideals you parrot, you're little different than i, save for the strength needed to see your convictions through."
he sneers, his next words a challenge.
"but i am the conqueror, and i will see this world united!"
"not you!" the king retorts, the force of both parties' declarations cracking the air like a thunderclap. "i will. and not by forcing all the people to choose the sword or the knee! i would stoke their hearts, for peace cannot come about in a land ruled by fear!"
(if jing yuan thinks to look at the robin of the present, who has straightened up from collecting mana stones and instead is now watching his king speak, he may note a distant, solemn expression on his face.)
the world seems to come to a standstill as whatever forces bidding them not attack seem to shatter, sword flashing up to meet axe. it is there that the memory ends, reality bleeding back in before any sure end to the clash of ideals, but robin's words, likely, eliminate any doubt that might exist of its outcome. ]
... Is that where it ends? I suppose his dying moments were just that unimportant. [ a harrumph, even if he can't quite clear his expression of the pensive cast it's taken on. ] When Chrom defeated him ... he held onto his beliefs to the last.
Still, I suppose it must be that strength of conviction that led to many to support him such that they would rather die than surrender, that day we marched on the capital.